Curse or Blessing
by justonemore
Summary: Snape is cursed, but really, maybe that was for the best.
1. Chapter 1

Severus Snape rapped against the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, leaving a bloody smear near the eyehole. He put a hand to his nose. The blood was flowing rather rapidly now, he noted with academic interest. Molly Weasley cautiously opened the door.

"Severus, the password…Oh my!" She took his elbow as he lurched in the door. She didn't appear too alarmed by the trail of blood down the front of his robe, Snape noticed. Whether this was a lack of interest in his well-being, or the result of having six sons who had inured her to gaping wounds of all sorts, Snape couldn't say.

"Let's see," she said. "Stanchium…episkey!" His nose remained unchanged. Snape was beginning to feel light-headed, to his annoyance.

"Not broken…maybe cursed," he said, leaning against the door frame.

"Oh dear. Arthur, Abby!" Arthur Weasley appeared in the doorway. Down a flight of stairs into the foyer, came Abkhazia Wilson, dressed casually, her dark hair draped about her shoulders. Snape hadn't known much about her until recently, and perhaps he knew little more now. She had been several years behind him at Hogwarts, best in her year in Potions. Dumbledore had recently recruited her as sort of a field medic. ("A low budget version of you, Severus," she had said) She had a dry sense of humor, that Snape found amusing, although he had never said so. She was rather good with children, as Snape had observed her once making ladybugs fly around the head of a small child whose knee she was repairing. She was also, he believed, his best statistical chance of surviving whatever he had been hit with.

Abkhazia looked at him with puzzlement, placing a hand on his shoulder, and pulled out her wand.

"Stanchium…Reparius…Reversium. Well, that last one seems to have slowed it a bit anyway. Severus, can you tell me what happened?"

"Probably a curse, won't stop." Snape began to sway. He suddenly vomited all over Abkhazia's shoes. This would have mortified him, but he felt his ability to care about such things fading along with his consciousness.

"Damn. I think I know what this is, and untreated it's quite serious, but I have some antidote upstairs. Arthur, let's get him up to my room." Half relying on levitation, Arthur and Abkhazia hauled him up two flights of stairs and down a hallway to a small brightly colored room. They sat him on a bed with cream colored linen. He immediately vomited again.

"Thanks, Arthur, I can take it from here. Whatever you hear, don't come in unless I specifically ask you." Arthur looked rather relieved at these instructions and fled. She shut the door.

Snape wasn't sure how he was still sitting upright. Abkhazia was rummaging through a trunk."Is it under E or R? Ah." She pulled out a small vial and went over to him. She put a hand on his back. "I'm afraid I can't give it to you until you've vomited again. I have to be sure it stays down long enough to work." Snape eventually obliged.

"Tergeo," she waved her wand, cleaning off his face. "Severus, you'll need to drink this, and then the next five minutes are going to be very unpleasant, but it's just five minutes, alright." She fed him the liquid, and sat down next to him, keeping her hand on his back. Suddenly he felt an immense pain in his chest.

"Ahh!' he cried, toppling over. He landed on something soft. The pain was unbearable. He curled himself into a fetal position. He tried to scream, but couldn't get any air into his lungs. He felt someone put an arm around him and take his hand.

"Just hold on for five minutes, Severus," he heard Abby saying. Everything went white.

When he began to regain consciousness, he felt an arm draped over his chest. Someone was also stroking his hair. At least he thought so. He couldn't recall whether he'd ever felt these sensations before. He slowly opened his eyes. He noticed that his head was in someone's lap, and that his robes were no longer covered in blood and vomit, nor was the floor next to the bed. He could hear a fire crackling in the grate.

"Severus?" He didn't want to sit up, partly because he still felt a dull ache in his chest and in his extremities. He found, also, that having his hair stroked was quite pleasant, more than he would have expected. Now that she could tell he was awake, he had to sit up, though. "Easy, don't sit up too fast. The blood will rush away from your head, and there isn't quite enough of it sloshing around in you just at the moment." She helped him sit up, steadying him. He turned to look at her.

"It was an Expulsio Curse?"

Abkhazia looked at him. She had always admired his breadth and depth of knowledge, but she was even more impressed by the sort of strength that allowed someone to diagnose his own near death experience.

"Yes, quite crude. The antidote is quite crude too. Since the curse tries to make your body expel its fluids, the antidote simply interrupts the curse by petrifying your organs and blood flow for three minutes. That's why you feel as if a giant sat on your chest."

"My arms and legs…"

"Are just feeling the effects of restored circulation, rather like recovering from frostbite." He nodded. "How long before you got back here did the symptoms manifest?" He looked as if he were trying to clear his clouded brain.

"About forty minutes." She looked at him incredulously, her hand still on his back, as if she were afraid he would topple over at any second.

"Forty minutes of sustained blood loss, and you're talking to me as if we're having Sunday tea? That's quite a constitution you have there." She stopped herself and focused. "I don't want to bore you with details you already know, but I want to make sure you have all of the information at my disposal. You know that whoever cursed you had to get you to eat cursed food?" He nodded. "The curse can be set to manifest between two and eight hours, and you arrived at 9:45, so any food you took between 1 and 7 p.m. could have done it. Does that narrow things down for you?"

"Almost," he said cryptically.

"I don't want you to tell me any more than you are comfortable with. I could envision any number of scenarios – someone thinks you're disloyal to the Dark Lord, but doesn't have enough evidence to convince him, or you're on a mission for the Dark Lord to investigate another Death Eater, and the object of your investigation thinks you might be onto their shady behavior. It might even be an Order of the Phoenix sympathizer who suspects you of double dealing." She was troubled by the thought that she had had any number of times before, that they were asking too much of him. One man couldn't keep this up for long, this double life. She changed the subject. "But that's for you and Dumbledore to figure out. Interesting," she mused, "such a dated curse. Lucrezia Borgia, one of us of course, used it in the 16th century. She could easily blame the symptoms of her victims on one sort of plague or another."

"Fascinating," Snape said, with a familiar hint of sarcasm. She realized she had been rambling.

"Sorry, sorry," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "You should sleep. You've lost a lot of blood. Can you stand?" She put a hand under his arm and helped him up. He steadied himself against the coatrack. She started to unfasten his robes.

"I will – "

"No, you won't. I have a high estimation of your abilities, Severus, but you aren't exactly in top form are you?" She helped him out of his robes and his next two shirts. As she was unbuttoning them, she felt a pang. She had seen this with patients before during her fellowship at St. Mungo's, men who wore several shirts, even when the weather was fine. It was always a habit of men from families of limited means, who lived in houses which were never really warm, where double glazing was a luxury not to be thought of. She was glad she had started a fire for him.

She finally had him down to a black undershirt. She turned to pick up her wand and she saw him looking at her with, what, shock, surprise? At her effrontery? At her taking time with him? Severus Snape wasn't a man with whom most people troubled themselves if they could help it. Whether this was because he preferred it that way, she couldn't know. She tapped his waistband with her wand, changing his trousers into the lower half of a pair of cotton drawstring pajamas.

"Handy charm," he murmured.

"Well, you know women, never quite satisfied with our outfits. Not a familiar sensation to you is it?" she chuckled, drawing back the covers. He looked a bit offended. She decided to ignore his look, and she gently pushed him down on the bed. He sat rather heavily, and she pushed his shoulder down onto the pillows.

Snape felt very woozy leaning against the coatrack. Whether it was because he had been clinically dead for three minutes or because a woman had just undressed him was perhaps an academic question. When she made a joke about the way he dressed, he had been on the verge of an angry retort. Yet, she was pushing him down on the bed very gently. She didn't seem the kind of person who would make fun of a patient. Perhaps she was joking with him the way one joked with a friend, the way Arthur Weasley joked with Molly, or the way Black joked with Lupin. Perhaps this was the way she had been taught to deal with the sickly, of which he was one just at the moment. Perhaps this was the way Lily had joked with James. Snape pushed that thought from his mind as he felt the blankets being pulled over him. They smelled of lavender, which he knew to have a calming effect. If he had been asked earlier that day, he would have thought its use in this context to be a frivolous gesture, but he now found it soothing. Abkhazia was on the verge of saying something when there was a knock at the door. She went to answer it.

Snape looked up. The door at first obscured the identity of the visitor.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she said

"Albus, my dear, Albus," he said, stepping into the room to stand next to the bed.

"Old habits die hard, Professor."

"And how is the patient?"

"Better than he was a bit earlier."

"Thanks to you, my dear, I'm sure."

"Lucky, perhaps, that I had the right antidote on hand. It wasn't due to me, though, that he managed to stay alive and upright for the forty minutes before he got here."

"You know how we men are about doctors, my dear. Always putting off check-ups. What was it?"

"Expulsio Curse."

"My word," said Dumbledore, "I hadn't thought anyone had used one of those since the 16th century." Snape rolled his eyes, and he caught Abkhazia grinning at him.

"I expect you two will need to speak alone. I'll just go down and give Molly a hand. I will be back in twenty minutes. He needs at least 24 hours of rest to replace some of the blood he's lost," she said firmly.

"Point taken," said Dumbledore, smiling.

Snape hadn't realized he was following her with his eyes as she left the room, until he caught Dumbledore watching him. He quickly shifted his gaze to his hands holding the sheets.

"Quite a remarkable young woman, Miss Wilson," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"She has a – clear head in a crisis."

"Fortunately for you. Do you know who cursed you, Severus?"

"Abkhazia – Miss Wilson indicated that I could have ingested the cursed food between 1 and 7 p.m. During that time I took two meals with Death Eaters in their homes."

"And?"

Snape remembered the way Abkhazia had laid out his alternatives, exactly the way he would have done it.

"The first was with Rasmussen. The Dark Lord does not entirely trust him. Perhaps Rasmussen thinks I know a good reason why the Dark Lord should not."

"And do you?"

"He is venal, and generally profits from any missions he receives. These profits are of course unreported to Voldemort. I have enough information about such profits that I could report them."

"And the other meal?"

"With the Malfoys."

"An early dinner?"

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"The Malfoys haven't sunk to such depths that they would yet consider inviting someone of my socioeconomic status to dine. They did consent to offer me afternoon tea. With biscuits."

"Their motive?"

"Less clear. Lucius is jealous of my closeness to the Dark Lord, but I do not think that he is so foolish as to think that my untimely death would restore him to favor."

They discussed a plan of action for dealing Rasmussen. Dumbledore leaned over him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know you think, Severus, that it is only on occasions like these that I am reminded of the magnitude of what we ask of you. Please know that I am always aware, and I am grateful." Dumbledore walked toward the door. Severus Snape considered himself no one's fool, an abject pragmatist. Yet Dumbledore had the power to disarm him every time, to steal his cynicism at every turn. Perhaps that was why Snape had come back to him, time and again, like the Prodigal Son.

"Severus," Dumbledore had stopped just before opening the door. "Do you know, I think that having someone else tuck you up in bed every once in a while is very underrated."

Abkhazia climbed the stairs. She met Dumbledore just outside the door to her room.

"Thank you, my dear. Recruiting you was quite a brainstorm on my part. You know, Severus isn't comfortable in very many places. Thank you for trying to make him so." He smiled at her and walked downstairs. She was grateful he hadn't stayed to see her blushing.

She entered the room. Snape was on his side, looking at her as she entered. He was even paler than usual. She went over and sat on the other side of the bed. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you need something to help you sleep, or can you take care of that yourself?" Every Occlumens she knew could put himself out like a light.

"I do not require any narcotics." He paused. "Thank you." She put her hand on his back and began rubbing it gently. He stiffened at her touch. He hadn't before, but he was more aware now that the aftereffects of the curse were fading. She kept rubbing, and he relaxed.

"Severus, I want you to know that I, well, I think everyone, admires what you are doing. Walking into a room with those people, with HIM – most of us couldn't do it once, and you do it almost every day. I don't know how."

"It is possible to become accustomed to almost anything. It is not clear that it is always wise to do so." Was he thinking of the stupidity of his youth, for which he would forever have to atone? Or was he having regrets about his role? Abkhazia didn't know. She stopped rubbing his back and looked over at him.

"Please, keep…" he murmured. She could tell he was falling asleep. He probably wouldn't remember what he had just asked her, and that was probably for the best. She kept it up for another minute. He was asleep.

She realized that she really hadn't thought ahead to where she was going to sleep. She could take a couch, or one of the other rooms. She could bunk in with the kids for that matter, although she suspected those Weasley twins snored. She was content for the moment to stretch out next to him, and watch him sleep. She told herself it was the professionally responsible thing to do. He looked more relaxed in sleep than she had ever seen him before. He wasn't, for once, on his guard. She didn't really notice herself becoming more tired. Finally she drifted off.


	2. Chapter 2

Snape had never been an early riser, preferring to work late into the night, but he awoke the next morning at an hour even later than the usual. The sun was high in the sky. As he rolled over in bed, he noted that the pain in his chest was still there, but had improved considerably. There was a soft rapping at the door, and it opened a crack.

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"As you wish," he said, immediately regretting the haughtiness of his tone.

Abkhazia walked in. She was dressed in a cloak, and she rummaged through her large chest. A quill and parchment followed her hovering in the air, taking notes as she recited the names of various potion ingredients. She turned to him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much improved, thank you," he said, formally.

"You should stay in bed until at least this evening," she said firmly.

"I –"

"Until this evening. I have to go to Diagon Alley. Now that I know they're using some of these older curses, I really need to brew up some of the antidotes." She walked over to her nightstand, put a hand on his shoulder, and handed him a bound journal entitled "Potion Science Today". "This should give you something to prevent you from climbing the walls. There's some very interesting research coming out of Germany. Plus, there's a piece by a fellow in Lyons on Veritaserum that sounds completely dodgy to me. I'd be interested in your opinion. If you finish that, help yourself to my humble library." She gestured to several shelves of books. "That's the only problem with traveling so much. I can only bring a fraction of my library with me. Anyway, Molly is going to bring you something on a tray. I told her food that's high in iron, so if it's liver, no sulking."

Snape was too taken aback to reply in kind. He changed the subject.

"Does Dumbledore give you a budget? Some of those ingredients are…difficult to come by."

"He funnels a bit of money to me, laundered through Remus. If anyone asks, he rents a room every summer in the cottage my parents left me in Lyme Regis. Cheerio, Severus" She swept out of the room. Snape felt surprisingly bereft. He turned his attention to the journal.

After a surprisingly good meal of beef stew and spinach lentil casserole and a few more hours sleep, Snape felt good enough to dress and leave the bed. He was intrigued by the variety of titles in her small library.

When Abby returned that evening with her purchases in tow, she found him seated at the small desk in her room. He turned as she came in.

"The article on Veritaserum is, as you suggested, completely without foundation. The author probably achieved his results because he failed to include equal numbers of very truthful and very mendacious people in both the control and treatment groups. The standards of the journal seem to be slipping."

"Perhaps a strongly worded letter to the editor?"

"Perhaps," he replied.

Snape had dinner with them that evening, much to the surprise of the other members of the Order. Abby found it to be a less than pleasant meal. Snape's interactions with some of the members of the household were inappropriately hostile, and she found herself reminded of why most people didn't like him. He addressed Sirius Black with barely controlled fury, and his attitude toward the Potter boy seemed inexplicable. Only when he spoke to Remus Lupin or Molly Weasley did his tone even approach civility. The others, he simply ignored.

After dinner, he insisted on returning to his own home. She allowed him, partly because people tend to recover better in their own beds, and partly because she wasn't sure where they would have put him. She had gotten away with giving him her bed in an emergency last night, but tonight, things might have been more awkward.

Over the next few weeks, they saw each other every 5 or 6 days, as they each were in and out, doing Dumbledore's bidding. Abby always felt torn when she saw him. He was cordial, if formal, to her. Whenever their conversations ended, she thought he looked as if he wanted to continue them. She continued to be impressed by the quiet acquiescence with which he undertook increasingly dangerous tasks to gather information at Dumbedore's request and his attention to detail. She also continued to be appalled at his interactions with others. When September arrived, and he was to return to Hogwarts, while she was to go abroad to support a few other members of the Order, she noted, with both amusement at herself and consternation, that she couldn't decide how she felt about him.

On September 3rd, Snape stood up from the long table in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. He was anxious to leave, but he lingered in the foyer. He had little desire to speak to the others, and would be seeing a few of them from time to time, even during the term. There was one person, however, with whom he particularly wished to speak, although he wasn't sure why. As Abkhazia approached him, he felt his heart skip. He wasn't sure why he was so anxious to speak to her.

"You're headed back to school?"

"Yes, back to overentitled children and their pathetic attempts at scholarship."

"I'm sure they try their best, Severus. You must remember being that age," she said gently. He noted the look in her eyes. He had seen the way her expression changed whenever he interacted with Black or the others. She disapproved of him, like the others. For some reason, though, her disapproval hadn't turned into avoidance. For what reason, he couldn't say.

"All too well. You are to accompany the group going to Croatia?"

"Dealing with dragons is always a bit dangerous. Hopefully, they won't need me."

"They are fortunate to have you." She looked astonished at his words.

"You are heading home to pack, then?"

"Yes," he said. She reached over and hugged him.

"Have a good semester then, Severus. I'll see you when I get back."

Snape was too shocked to say anything. He returned her embrace, and when she broke it, he nodded. He turned and disapparated.

For Snape, the term seemed more onerous than ever. In addition to his teaching duties, there were the clandestine errands for the Dark Lord, and clandestine errands for Dumbldore. He was weary much of the time. At night, though, when he was finally able to obtain a few hours rest, he fell asleep remembering what it had felt like when she had rubbed his back.

He heard little of Abkhazia. He sent her a congratulatory owl when she published a small piece on scorpion venom in "Potion Science Today", and she sent him a brief note of thanks. Dumbledore dropped hints about her progress in Croatia, and a later mission in Albania. Snape thought the old man knew how he felt. He thought about feigning indifference, but the thought of being cut off completely from information about her was too much to bear.

The second day of the Christmas break, Dumbledore sent a house elf to fetch him. He entered the Headmaster's office, to find him looking slightly concerned.

"Miss Wilson is in St. Mungo's" Snape turned a shade paler than usual. "It's rather serious, I'm afraid, Severus. A dragon bite, but it doesn't seem to be healing." Snape was frozen for a minute. "I trust, Severus, that you will be prudent." Snape made no reply as he turned and marched from the office. Had Dumbledore watched him, he would have seen Snape head out of the nearest gate to the road to Hogsmeade, where he apparated to the St. Mungo's lobby.

Snape had known what Dumbledore meant. He knew for a fact that the Dark Lord had spies in St. Mungo's, informants who would mention anything out of the ordinary. Snape didn't want to publicize his connection to Abkhazia too openly. It would be bad for him if the Death Eaters had guessed that she was a member of the Order, but it would be worse for her if the Dark Lord felt that she was a way to get to Snape. The Dark Lord trusted him now, but one never knew when that might change.

He headed to the first floor, where attacks by magical creatures were generally treated. He spoke to the floor nurse.

"I am here to see Miss Wilson, on behalf of Professor Dumbledore. She's a former pupil of his."

"Ah yes, Ward 2. You might catch her awake, but there's no telling." Snape willed himself to walk slowly. He spotted her at the end of a row of beds that was about one third full. She looked very pale against the sheets, her dark hair surrounding her. Her eyes were closed, and she wore a sleeveless gown to avoid interfering with the enormous bandage on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, with a slightly dazed expression on her face.

"Severus?"

He looked around. The nearest patient was several beds away.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he said, echoing her words to him of several months ago.

"We were attacked by dragons. Surprising really, since we had enchanted so many other groups of them. Dumbledore wanted to make sure that they couldn't be used against the Order. I was the only one bitten. Funny, since they usually use fire. I treated a few burns on the Croatia mission. It wouldn't be that bad, if only it would heal." She shut her eyes.

"I will examine it." Snape tried to be as gentle as possible when he undid her bandages. The wound was red, raw, and looked as if she had sustained it yesterday. Obviously, the dragon had been cursed. Of course, there were ways of neutralizing the power of the dragon. Specialized ingredients were required. He refastened her bandages, and walked up the aisle to the nurse's station again.

"Is she asleep?"

"On and off. Fascinating injury. Has anyone suggested a Prehistoric Poultice?" The nurse laughed

"Aren't those old wives' tales? You'd never catch a healer here using one."

"I've been told my sense of humor can be odd," said Snape, forcing a smile. There was no way she'd get the right treatment in here with these hidebound incompetents. He returned to her bedside. Her eyes were still shut. He glanced around and took her hand.

"Abkhazia – Abby," he whispered in her ear, "I think I know how to treat this, but we must be discreet, and I can't do it here. I will come back, late tonight. I need the exact address of your parents' house in Lyme." She opened her eyes groggily, and whispered it back to him. He squeezed her hand. He sat up and spoke loudly. "Well, Miss Wilson, Professor Dumbledore asked me to convey wishes for a speedy recovery from him and from all of the Hogwarts faculty. I will disturb your rest no further." He returned to the lobby.

It was a busy evening. Back to Hogwarts for some ingredients, and then to her parents' house in Lyme. When he apparated, he landed in the living room. Despite the dust coverings, the room was cheery, with seascape paintings on light colored walls and comfortable furniture. One wall was covered with bookshelves. Snape began examining the, but then caught himself. He set his cauldron in the kitchen. It was December and after dark, so he took the risk of apparating on the beach itself.

Lyme was located on the Jurassic Coast, a part of the English shore known for its fossils. Severus walked over tone of the cliffs and began chiseling. To neutralize the power of the dragon, he needed organic matter that predated dragons. Just a bit would do. He soon had what he needed, and he returned to the cozy house.

He added the ingredients to his cauldron, and set the potion to stew. Whisking his wand, he removed the coverings from the furniture in the lounge. He went upstairs. He found a larger bedroom, and removed the dust coverings from the furniture in there as well. He noticed a smaller bedroom down the hall. As he entered it, he knew at once it had been Abkhazia's. A Ravenclaw hat and scarf hung from the bedpost. Pictures of a much younger Abkhazia with her friends on the Gobstones team grinned back at him. She raised her eyebrows mischievously.

A clock struck 2 a.m. It was time. Severus apparated into Abby's ward. The patients were asleep. The charge nurse dozed at her desk. He went to Abby's bedside. He gently tapped her good shoulder. She stirred and opened her eyes. He put a finger to his lips. He leaned over and lifted her into his arms.

"Brace yourself," he said. They reappeared in the living room of the house at Lyme. Snape looked down at Abby. She was smiling, but quite pale.

"It's good to be back here." He set her gently on the sofa. She moaned slightly.

"Apparation is quite difficult when one is not in good health. Do you need something for the pain?" She shook her head. He went to the kitchen, removed the thick potion from his cauldron and let it cool. He then carried a bowl of it to the living room. "I have the remedy here – a Prehistoric Poultice."

"I didn't even think of that," she said, hazily.

"That is the job of the healers at St. Mungo's, another institution whose standards are slipping," he said, seating himself next to her on the sofa.

"Severus, it's not a crime to be less intelligent than you are. If it were, we'd all be in Azkaban, and you'd have no one to complain about." He marveled at her ability to pay him a compliment and reprove him all at once.

"I must remove your bandages." When he had unwound them sufficiently, he spread the poultice on the wound. He tried not to be too rough, but she winced throughout the procedure. He couldn't help but admire her bravery. Half the Death Eaters would have been screaming at this point. He replaced the dressing with a fresh one.

Abby was surprised at how gentle he was, and that he had built a fire and removed the dust coverings before she had arrived. Perhaps if he hadn't become a Death Eater, he would have been a healer. Of course there might have been bedside manner issues. She heard him murmuring "Wingardium Leviosa", as he levitated her up the stairs and into her parents' old room. When he had set her lightly on the bed, whose linens he had turned back, she looked around.

"This is my parents' old room."

"I selected the largest. If you need me to move you…"

"No, thank you , Severus, I like being here. There are many happy memories." He pulled the covers over her. She wondered whether he was simply paying her back for her actions the previous summer. He waved his wand again, and a flask appeared in his hand.

"At St. Mungo's, they were probably giving you something for the pain. You should drink this." He handed her the flask, and helped her to sit up to drink its contents. He set the flask on the nightstand, and she leaned back. She saw him looking at her with uncertainty. Perhaps she would have to nudge him a bit.

"Thank you , Severus."

"No thanks are necessary,"

"They are, and I am going to ask you to indulge me further. Sit with me a while, and tell me what's been going on." Snape hesitantly sat on the other side of the bed. "Why don't you put your feet up? It looks like it's been a long day." He swung around so that he was lying next to her. She locked her arm through his, and leaned her ahead against his shoulder. He stiffened, and then relaxed, just as he had when she had touched him last fall. The last thing she heard as she drifted off was his quiet discussion of Dolores Umbridge, Dumbledore, and the Ministry.


	3. Chapter 3

Snape awoke the next morning at a fairly late hour. Abby was still asleep with her head on his shoulder. He put his hand on her forehead. She wasn't too warm, and her color was definitely better. Less like his, he thought, ruefully. She would probably want food, which he could not conjure up. Not wishing to risk being seen in the town, and having no desire to engage in the idle chitchat that seemed so appallingly common among residents of towns of this size, he apparated to the road outside Hogwarts, and entered the kitchen. He was surprised to find Dumbledore there, chatting with one of the house elves about ways to make mint sauce, while pouring himself a bowl of cornflakes.

"Ah, Severus. I prefer a simple breakfast when the children aren't here. How is Miss Wilson?"

"I believe I have found a possible remedy, or at least made a better attempt than the fools at St. Mungo's."

"We musn't be too harsh, Severus. So many curses about nowadays, it must be hard to keep up."

Snape moved to the refrigerator, pulled some staples out, and then headed for the pantry.

"I believe you'll find that ladies are partial to chocolate, Severus." Dumbledore headed off in the direction of his office.

When he returned to the cottage, Abby was still asleep, but she was stirring by the time he brought up some toast and fruit.

"I see the Hotel Snape is full service," she said. He was cheered that she had enough strength to return to her usual sense of humor. "Where does St. Mungo's think I am , by the way?"

"The Magical Injuries Ward thinks you're in the Long Term Care Ward, but the records in the Long Term Care Ward indicate that you've been discharged."

"You are very organized with the paperwork, aren't you? Seriously, Severus, how can I thank you? I don't really think that St. Mungo's would have been able to help me."

"Unimaginative louts," he muttered. "No thanks are necessary. You restored me to health this past fall. I doubt anyone else would have had that antidote on hand."

"I have always had a thing for the older remedies, as do you, I see."

"It is fortuitous that your parents chose to locate near this part of the coast, where fossil remnants are widely available."

"I grew up here."

"It is unusual for wizarding families to locate in a place like this."

"My dad was a Muggle. He came from a long line of fishermen, although he ran a bookshop in town."

"And your mother?"

"A former captain of the Ravenclaw Gobstones team at Hogwarts,"

"You followed in her footsteps"

"I see you've been in my room, or did you actually read all of those alumni newsletters?"

"I did assume the room down the hall was yours, and I did notice the photographs." He paused. "My mother was also on the Gobstones team at Hogwarts, for Slytherin."

"Perhaps our mothers knew each other."

"Perhaps." He looked out the window toward the sea. "My mother is no longer available to ask," he said quietly.

"Nor mine." Snape hesitated to ask further, but she continued. "My mother was in the Order the first time. She was killed. I was just finishing Hogwarts. My dad died in an accident a few years ago."

Snape wondered what she must think of him. His past was generally known, and she had lost a parent to Death Eaters. He looked at the floor.

"My mother died of some unknown illness. St Mungo's couldn't help her. I resented them for a long time."

"I guess I can see where your anger toward them comes from. I guess I have a somewhat different view, since I did my research fellowship there."

"If I admit the truth to myself, however, I believe that she simply no longer wanted to live." He noted Abby looking at him sympathetically.

"And your father?" she asked gently.

"He drank himself to death before I turned twenty." Snape made no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice. "He was also a Muggle."

"So we have that in common, then."

"I think it improbable that my family life was anything like yours."

"I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't mean to bring up a painful subject."

"No…I started it. Your father – did he resent your mother, her abilities?"

"No," said Abby laughing. "He was absolutely thrilled with her ability to do magic. He never had to do a day's maintenance on the house. He and Mum were often up late, though. It wouldn't have done to have the neighbors see the gutters cleaning themselves. He always told people at parties that Mum had bewitched him. It was their little inside joke."

"It was very different in my home." Abby looked at him with concern and said no more.

She slept most of the day. Severus brewed more of the poultice for her, and in the evening, he treated her wound again.

"The healing seems to be progressing," he noted as he gently rebandaged her shoulder. He couldn't help but say it with a note of pride. He wasn't sure whether it was because he felt he had a debt to discharge to her, or whether he simply enjoyed doing something for her. He made her some dinner and levitated it upstairs. When he produced chocolate for dessert, she kissed him on the cheek, to his surprise. He reminded himself for the hundredth time never to underestimate the breadth of Dumbledore's knowledge.

Abby had spent the last two days in a state of surprise. In St. Mungo's, she had drifted in and out, but her own knowledge of magical injuries was enough to tell her that something was wrong. She had supposed that they would eventually find a cure for her, but she had imagined it would take time, consultations with outside specialists etc. Severus had been a godsend in comparison, and she was further surprised by the extent of the care he was giving her. Was he merely trying to repay her for this past summer? She knew he regarded her as a friend, but she was not sure that that word had the same meaning for him as it did for others. No one ever seemed to get too close to him.

As he finished eating, Abby, now more wide awake than she had been in a week, scrutinized him. He was no longer the skinny teenager she had remembered from school, and when they had met again in the Order, she had noted that he had taken on weight in a good way, but he definitely looked somewhat thinner than he had when she had said goodbye to him in September, and there were more lines etched in his face.

After Severus had removed the dishes, he brought her more pain medication. As he turned to go, she decided to be brave. She knew that he had slept next to her last night. He had been up when she awoke, but the quilt that was ordinarily at the foot of the bed lay rumpled on top of the covers next to her, and there was an indentation in the pillow.

"Severus, will you please stay?"

"I had planned to, in the room down the hall."

"No, I mean in here, with me." She smiled. "I can't send you off to my childhood bed."

"I have a Stretching Charm," he said hesitantly.

"I feel…more secure with you here. I think I sleep better." She thought back to the night she had slept next to him in Grimmauld Place. She thought perhaps they were both better rested the next day, or had it been her imagination? He nodded wordlessly. He walked down the hall, presumably to where he had left his bag.

She pulled back the covers for him, so he wouldn't have to sleep under the quilt again. He returned, dressed in a pair of worn black pajamas. He looked at the bed, hesitated for a moment, and got in, pulling the covers over himself. Abby moved closer to him. Because of her shoulder, she had to lie on her back, so , once again, she linked her arm through his, this time taking his hand. She put her head on his shoulder. This time he didn't stiffen.

She wondered whether he received as much comfort from this contact as she did. It didn't sound as if he had had much positive contact with his parents. Abby knew that one alcoholic parent and one depressed parent meant that the most benign picture she could conjure of Severus' childhood would be one of abject neglect, and possibly things had been worse than that. She wasn't sure she could heal pain that deep, although she wished she could. She hoped that she was at least distracting him from the weight of his work.

Snape wasn't sure that he could handle any more surprises. The Death Eaters were painfully predictable, and the members of the Order, while more intelligent on average, had habits to which they usually gave way. This woman surprised him every minute, and so did his reactions to her. He had never before seen himself in a caretaking role, although it was true, people always came to him for potent cures. Yet, here he was, making meals and bandaging wounds. He couldn't describe the way she made him feel except perhaps with the word "welcome". She had extended her room, her own bed, to him when he was ill. He had made himself comfortable in her parents' home, and she thought nothing of it. During his boyhood, no one who had lived in a place like this, a normal, middle class home, would have let him across the threshold. He wasn't sure most of them would now.

He had been most surprised by her request this evening. Women did not invite him to share their beds, even in the most benign of circumstances. They generally did not seek contact with him. Was this gratitude for his help, or did she really, as she said, like having him there? When she moved next to him and took his hand, he felt something stir in him that he had thought was long dead. He wished he could put his arm around her, but he didn't wish to disturb her injury, so he surprised them both by leaning over and kissing her forehead before wishing her a goodnight. He stayed awake for another hour, watching her sleep, afraid to move, afraid he would wake and find himself in a dream.

The next day, Abby was well enough to walk around.

"It's just as well," she said. "Tomorrow is Christmas Eve."

Snape nodded. He had almost forgotten.

"Is there some relative's house to which I should deliver you?"

"No, I used to celebrate Christmas here. This year, I had supposed I would just head to Grimmauld Place, since there were bound to be a few people in and out for meetings, and guard duty. How about you? Do you usually celebrate Christmas with family?"

"No," he said. In fact, Snape's Christmas observations were minimal. During his childhood, Christmas had usually been a better day than most. His father usually slept through it, or was still out reveling. His mother usually obtained something better than average for a midday meal. Still, Snape didn't see the point in most of the festivities, and really had no one with whom to celebrate, other than some distant pure-blood relatives who treated him with thinly disguised disdain that mirrored his own feelings for them. He had spent most of the last few Christmases in his rooms at Hogwarts. He did, however, eat a great many mince pies every year.

Abby felt good enough to decorate the house, although Snape insisted that she stay seated while levitating garlands out of the attic and applying red bows over the doorways. She seemed to take it for granted that Snape would stay through the holiday. He decided to do so. Voldemort regarded Christmas as a time to allow his followers drunken excess and revelry of their choosing. The more addicted they were to their creature comforts, the more he could use that to manipulate them. Dumbledore left them free on Christmas for more altruistic reasons. No one would expect to see Snape for days.

That night, Abby's shoulder had improved to the point that when he climbed into bed, she wrapped herself around him with her head and arm draped over his chest. He gently put his arms round her, and fell asleep stroking her hair.

The next two days were among the most idyllic Snape had ever experienced. He raided the Hogwarts kitchen again, and Abby insisted on helping him cook a few things for Christmas.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like?" she asked.

"Mince pies," he said.

"I think Mum's recipe is here somewhere."

Together, they made food for that evening and the next day. Abby took charge of the mince pies, seated on a stool in the kitchen while she set knives to chopping and rolling pins to making crust. The bandage on her shoulder was still large enough that she was wearing sleeveless shirts. Severus roasted a duck and some potatoes. He never cooked anything elaborate for himself, but the need to keep a careful eye on the duck demanded the same skill set as his more finicky potions.

That night, Abby turned on her father's old radio. Drawing out her wand, she moved the sofa cushions and pillows in front of the fireplace in the living room, and enlarged them. They lay in front of the flickering fire, covered with an eiderdown, with a choir singing carols in the background. Severus had rarely heard such beautiful music. The Christmas songs his father had preferred had been commercial Muggle drivel. This was full of beautiful complicated harmonies.

As he lay with one arm around Abby, he was surprised by the contentment he felt with this venture into domesticity. He had always felt a small amount of contempt for the happily married. The Malfoys' marriage seemed a superficial charade that would crumble soon after their bank accounts did. People like the Weasleys seemed obsessed with small concerns. Severus had told himself that they didn't have the ability to see the big picture. That was up to lone wolves like him. Yet, here, he had felt the pleasure of cooking and sleeping alongside someone who enjoyed his company. He didn't want it to end.

When she awoke the next morning, he was still asleep. She didn't wake him, but the aroma of the coffee and buns did.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," she said, leaning up to kiss him as he wandered into the kitchen. "But I haven't gotten you anything."

"Nor I you," he said, with a look of surprise on his face that she found endearing.

"I think saving my life is rather a good gift. You don't have to worry about getting the right size."

"If that is the case, I received my gift last August. The level of organization required to be prepared for Christmas in August is to be expected from an accomplished potion-maker such as yourself."

The rest of the day was spent in sloth and gluttony. Abby insisted that they listen to the Queen's Christmas address. Severus seemed to think that the Royal Family was a Muggle institution to which they need not pay much attention.

"You know, Severus, I think that might not be true. I think many of the early kings and queens were witches and wizards. A little magic to make yourself do well in battle, and that was the advantage you needed to rule."

"An interesting hypothesis, and one that matches your theory about Lucrezia Borgia. However, I am not sure that the modern Royal Family possesses any powers."

"Oh, no. Today's lot are obviously Squibs. Since Queen Victoria anyway."

"Queen Victoria?"

"Well, you have to admit, she got rather a lot done for a woman with nine children. I have to think she had some advantages. Ironic that her descendants would be Squibs, what with all that emphasis on inbreeding among the crowned heads."

Snape laughed.

"I think I've just seen a vision of the Malfoys' future lineage," he said.

Abby felt tired that afternoon. She settled Severus on the sofa with some of her father's rare folios and lay down with her head in his lap. She could hear him turning the pages, and feel his hand stroking her hair as she drifted off.

That evening, they polished off the duck. Severus ate seven mince pies. She was pleased to see him eating well, and his color looked a bit better too. For the last few days, he had been so much more relaxed. He was accepting her overtures of affection and returning them. She was feeling much better herself, perhaps well enough to make another bold move.

That night, as he extinguished the lights and climbed into her parents' bed next to her, she turned to face him. She reached up and stroked his cheek. She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. She leaned back to find him looking at her quizzically. She kissed him again, and this time, he kissed her back.

That night, they made love for the first time. Severus felt as if it were indeed the first time for him. His previous sexual encounters had all been one night stands in small smoky bars in far flung corners of the Britain or the Continent. He was sure that neither he, nor the women involved, would have described what they did as "making love" He had never received an invitation to stay the night or to call again. Feeling Abby caress him, feeling her beneath his hands, beneath him, feeling her pull him into a tight embrace when they had finished, knowing that she wanted him next to her, all of this allowed Severus to finally understand what all the fuss was about.


	4. Chapter 4

The next two days were bittersweet for Abby. Her shoulder was healing, and she was able to spend more time with Severus, but they both knew these days were just an interlude. Severus would have to return to school and his double life, and she would continue her work for the Order, although she didn't know yet just what that would entail. As the day when they would have to part grew nearer, Severus became more withdrawn. She knew he was just protecting himself, as he had had to do all of his life. She was actually rather flattered that he needed to do this. If she had meant nothing to him, he wouldn't have bothered.

Their last evening together, as she rose to go upstairs to bed, Severus cleared his throat.

"I believe I will sleep down here this evening. I will need to get an early start tomorrow."

Abby hesitated. She should just let him do what he wanted, shouldn't she? She crossed over to him and put her hand on his chest.

"Don't let's do this, Severus. This bloody business could go on for a long time. Shouldn't we live while we can?"

He looked at her and blinked a couple of times. Finally he nodded.

"Alright."

After they made love that night, Abby found herself tearing up.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I don't know why I'm being so maudlin." She looked over at Severus. He sometimes stared out the window for a long while afterwards. She had always wondered where he went in his mind.

Severus was not very far away. He had never left Great Britain, in fact. He did, however, cover quite a bit of time. As easy as Abby made it for him to forget his dangerous present, he could never quite shake the past. He found himself imagining what might have happened if there had never been a James Potter, wondering whether he might have shared these evenings with a very different woman. He was brought back to the present by Abby's apologetic statement. He looked over at her. Severus would ordinarily have scoffed at someone else's tears, but he himself could not shake the feeling that something was ending.

The next day, they apparated back to Grimmauld Place, which had been a flurry of activity. Apparently, Arthur Weasley had been attacked by Voldemort's snake, and had entered the ward Abby had been in shortly after she had left it. The Weasley's and that infernal Potter boy were therefore in residence, and they seemed to be everywhere at once. Black was in far too cheerful a mood for Severus' taste. Severus watched as Dumbledore took Abby aside and smilingly engaged her in conversation. She turned and marched upstairs. Before Severus could follow her, Dumbledore took him aside.

When their conversation was finished, Dumbledore swept out the door, leaving Severus in a barely controlled rage. Teach Occlumency to that ridiculous boy who had as much discipline and control as a kneazle who'd drunk a pot of coffee? Impossible, and yet Severus would be spending his evenings doing that instead of…Severus stopped himself. It wouldn't do to dwell.

Abby re-emerged from the upper floors. She stopped in front of him almost shyly.

"Dumbledore wants me to stay here for the time being. He's expecting more activity. He thinks he'll need someone here on a regular basis."

"Ah," said Severus. He simply didn't know what to say. He had a fleeting vision of taking her by the hand, returning to Lyme, and burrowing their heads under the covers. but he knew he could not. "I have a somewhat more onerous duty: trying to teach Potter Occlumency. Who was that Muggle patron saint of lost causes again?"

"Severus, you really need to try to get along with him. He's just a boy. He can be influenced."

"That's the problem. He's far too easily influenced and impetuous."

"And you've always thought out your actions carefully, knowing what the next step is?" She stared at him pointedly. He looked away.

"I need to return to the school."

"Now?"

"Yes."

She looked for a minute as though she wanted to embrace him, but she stopped short of doing so. Severus knew it was his look that stopped her. They were in full view of several Order members, although everyone was ensconced in their own conversational pairings.

"Take care of yourself, Severus."

"And you," he said. He looked at her one last time before sweeping out the door.

They did not meet again until February. Severus had found it difficult to leave Hogwarts regularly with Dolores Umbridge on the warpath. He had heard from other Order members that Abby was still at Grimmauld Place and had been a lifesaver on more than one occasion. He shuddered to think of her living in that house with Black. Sirius' recklessness was likely to get her killed. He told himself that this was the only reason he worried. Occlumency walled off that part of his brain that reminded him that Black was better looking, wealthier, and more charming than he would ever be, the part that convinced him that once again, someone he despised was going to take what he wanted most.

It was late evening on Valentine's Day when he arrived at the door of Grimmauld Place. The Muggle boy in his arms was heavy, and he had to shift his weight awkwardly to kick at the door.

He had been unable to avoid participating in the Death Eater raid on the Muggle household. The Dark Lord had a well developed sense of irony and enjoyed the thought that he was attacking people on a holiday devoted to love. Severus had not been informed of the destination. He had been told to follow Mulciber, and hadn't had time to inform the Order of their destination, particularly as Mulciber had suddenly descended somewhere in Yorkshire, selected a house and blown all of the windows out before alighting from his broom. Severus landed after him and the others and signaled that he would go around back.

He had seen the boy by the old dog run outside of the house. The boy was unconscious, and had probably been blown back by the exploding windows. Severus examined the boy's mind. He saw very little, which was good, since heavy bleeding in the brain would have created chaos. He barely had time to cast a Disillusionment Charm over the boy, when Avery arrived at his back. Thereafter, he was never again alone during the course of the raid. He wasn't sure whether the boy's parents or other family members were at home, but there was nothing he could do for them. Mulciber, who barely could delay gratification long enough to take the plastic wrapper off of a packet of biscuits, had had every square inch of the house aflame within 2 minutes.

It had been over an hour before Severus had been able to return for the boy. He had had to report back to the Dark Lord. Voldemort knew Severus would never lead such a raid. He considered Severus to be too intellectual for mindless violence, or rather, he thought that Severus himself felt that way. However, he would rely on Severus to give a more accurate report than the more psychopathic Death Eaters. Severus, of course, preferred to be thought too bookish for violence. It saved him from having to feign participation, from trying to alert the Order while not giving himself away. Now, though, he was beginning to see that he was also losing opportunities to save people. It bothered him, but did it bother him enough to risk his neck and his mission on regular basis?.

Abby opened the door to 12 Grimmauld Place. She looked at Severus and the boy, who was still unconscious.

"We've turned a room on the second floor into a makeshift infirmary. Bring him up here." She hurried up the stairs. Severus followed, levitating the boy.

"Put him here," she said, indicating the first bed. Severus lowered the boy to the bed and looked around. The room held four beds with white linens. Shelves with potions and instruments lined one wall. The room had been painted white, unlike almost anything else at Grimmauld Place, but there were cheerful paintings on the wall. Severus noted that they were mostly seascapes. He almost smiled, and was suddenly overcome with wistfulness. He turned to Abby, who was waving her wand rapidly over the boy.

"Ruptured spleen, broken clavicle, broken tibia, concussion, some minor burns, and lacerations." She didn't stop working on the boy as she began to question Severus. "Do you want to tell me what happened to him?"

"He was thrown from an exploding building."

"Well, that's consistent with all of this anyway." Severus wondered if she had doubted his explanation or expected him to lie. He looked down and saw that he was still wearing the Death Eater costume, the mask hastily shoved in the pocket of the robes. That something extra in her voice was probably distaste. "He's a Muggle, then?"

"Yes." He knew he didn't need to explain, but he wanted to.

"So he'll need to be Obliviated?"

"Yes. I can do that."

"That won't be for a while yet. I'll need to keep him here a while and wake him periodically."

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius entered the room.

"Ah, Snivellus, brought us your remnants then?"

"Someone needs to take action, Black. We can't all be spared."

"As if anyone needs your kind of action, minion!"

"Gentlemen," said Abby, "I'm afraid I can't offer you a ruler, so perhaps you should try not to terrify the patient." They were silent. Black turned to her.

"Dumbledore said to expect a rush tonight, Abby. Severus' lot has been busy all over the bloody countryside."

Severus was about to retort, but was interrupted.

"People do have the misconception that they are Severus' lot and yours, Sirius. At any rate, could you man the door? Dumbledore will want the intelligence on the attacks, and I'm probably going to need a gatekeeper." Sirius nodded and went downstairs. The fact that their exchange was merely cordial gave Severus a small amount of hope.

"Enjoying your roommate, are you?" he said pointedly. She stared at him.

"He's amusing enough, once you get used to the constant off-key singing of U2's greatest hits." She finished putting ointment on the boy's burns. "That's all I can do for now. We'll just need to see how his head wound goes."

Severus looked at her admiringly. Her skills were quite impressive. Severus remembered feeling a little bit like this whenever Madame Pomfrey had patched him back up when he was a student at Hogwarts. After a childhood spend with a laconic and diffident mother, he had been quietly surprised by Madame Pomfrey's interest in his health and her competence. He suddenly felt very old, and very tired.

"Severus." She was staring at him. "Why don't you go up to my room and lie down. It's in the same place. I think I might be busy here for a time."

As if on cue, a commotion sprang up from downstairs. Severus could hear Black peppering people with questions. Remus Lupin, his robes still smoking, emerged in the doorway, leaning heavily on Nymphadora Tonks.

"Damn, I just had these robes laundered. Kingsley's behind me, Abby. His wrist is bent at a truly unnatural angle. There were eight of them, by thunder." He noticed Snape. "It seems that he sent out a small number of large groups, as opposed to a lot of small ones. Is that right, Severus?"

"I saw two large groups sent out, but there might have been more. I was not in the Dark Lord's presence for long this evening." Everyone politely ignored the implication that he hadn't been with Voldemort because he had been out on a raid himself. He turned to Abby. "Do you need me to – "

"I can handle it from here, Severus." She turned back to help Remus to a bed, just as Kingsley Shacklebolt walked through the door regarding his left hand with an air of pained curiosity. Severus walked up the flight of stairs to Abby's room.

When he shut the door, he could still faintly hear the sounds from below. There were voices and footsteps, but probably not enough to disturb him. He turned and looked around. The room was as he had remembered it, plus a few more books and a new tapestry. He removed his robes. Regarding them with distaste, he crumpled them in a ball and shoved them under the bed. He took off his boots and lay down on the bed. He detected the scent of lilac…and her, and he was drawn to pull back the bedclothes and climb under them. He felt a strange sense of reassurance that was totally inappropriate to any of his evening's activities.

In the wee hours, Severus awoke to feel the bedclothes moving. Abby, now dressed in a nightshirt, was climbing in beside him.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Three a.m. Hestia came in with a Cursed Thistle injury, and I had to visualize each needle to extract it. The boy seems alright. I woke him just now, and he knew the year and who the Muggle Prime Minister was. I'll have to set an alarm to wake him again at six," she said, apologetically.

"That will do for me. I'll need to be back at Hogwarts around that hour." He closed his eyes.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Severus."

He felt her head alight on his shoulder and her arm go around him. He automatically put his arms around her.

When they awoke the next morning, Severus dressed hastily. Let the Slytherins who had wanted to spend their Valentine's Day night canoodling until all hours consider this a gift from him. He left the boy's address in Yorkshire with Abby, not that there was anything for the boy to go home to.

"I'll leave him wandering near the nearest village. He'll have a head injury and no memory of what happened, so the Muggle authorities will just assume he was hurt when he was blown clear of the house."

Severus hesitated.

"I will probably be able to get away for a couple of days this Easter." He said it with no inflection in his voice, shielding himself in case she had no reply.

"Lyme is cold, but lovely in the spring," she said.


	5. Chapter 5

They say that man plans, and God laughs. Abby reflected that this must be true, when all hell broke loose shortly before Easter. Dumbledore was sacked by Dolores Umbridge, and he left the school and ostensibly disappeared. He was in communication with the Order, but he rarely mentioned where he was, only places where he had been.

Abby didn't think Severus would be able to get away, now that the Order needed eyes and ears at Hogwarts. She hadn't heard from him since that night in February. She sent him a message through the charmed parchment that the Order members used to communicate with one another – "Lyme, new moon". She didn't expect a reply, or know if it was even realistic to expect him, but the week before Easter, on the eve of the new moon, Abby apparated to the yard of her parents' house at Lyme.

She had thought she might be waiting for some time, so she had brought a book. She made herself a cup of tea. At midnight, as she sat on the sofa reading, she heard a distinct popping sound coming from the back. She turned to look.

He came through the back door hesitantly. At Christmas, he had altered the charms protecting the house to admit him. Alarmed at how easy it had been for him to do so, he had also made them stronger. She smiled to encourage him. She felt something in her chest tighten.

"How long can you stay?" she asked softly.

"Our esteemed headmistress is in London until tomorrow evening," he said, with a hint of contempt. Abby was taken aback by his tone. That fact must have been written on her face, as he asked softly, "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, and you?"

He nodded. He approached her and put his hands under her elbows. He leaned down to kiss her, hesitantly at first, then more forcefully. They made it to the bedroom, but just barely. That night, Abby lay awake for some time. Severus lay sleeping. She had encouraged him to remain where he had collapsed, stretched over her with his head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him as if she could will him to stay like this forever. It was a selfish thought, though. She was struck that in the midst of all of this chaos and turmoil, she was having a few perfect moments with a decidedly imperfect person. Abby wondered what she had done to earn such different treatment from him than that which he gave to everyone else. What was it that made him willing to put his life on the line for the other members of the Order, but prevented him from even accepting a cup of tea from one of them with any degree of civility?

It was a warm evening in June that found Abby cataloging her supplies in the makeshift infirmary at Grimmauld Place. She suddenly heard Sirius below bellowing.

"Damn and blast, blast and damn! Why didn't Snape stop him?"

Abby ran downstairs to find Sirius struggling into some robes that smelled of mothballs.

"What are you doing?"

"It's Harry. Snape just contacted me. He thinks I'm at the Ministry, captured by Voldemort, and he's gone to save me, the bloody lunatic! Snape thinks Voldemort might be there as well."

"Sirius, you can't go! Not to the Ministry. Dumbledore was very clear…"

"Save it, Abby."

"At least let me –"

"No, I'm sure there will be casualties. Stay here."

Abby couldn't argue with him. She went upstairs to prepare for wounded. Her preparations didn't take that long, and she took to pacing the floor. Three hours later, there was pounding at the door. Abby ran down to look through the security port.

"Severus?"

"There is no time to waste. Black, he is –" Severus hesitated. Abby then knew.

"He is dead isn't he?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry to say he is. But that is why we must evacuate at once. Dumbledore is unsure of whether Sirius had a will, so he doesn't know to whom the house now will go, nor how the house might react to the death of the last of the Blacks." Abby was certain that a certain portrait and a certain house elf would be overjoyed, but she had no time to ponder this, or her own grief at losing a friend. Sirius could be annoying, but he was also very charming.

Abby ran upstairs and packed her potions and books. She transfigured the trunks into a set of dice and dropped them into her pocket. Severus cleaned out the safe and destroyed any sign that the Order had ever used the place.

"Where to?" she asked as they exited the building, trying to hide their sense of urgency.

"Hogwarts."

"Severus, where are they taking the wounded? That's where I belong. There were wounded?" The alternative, that more people had simply perished, was too horrible to imagine.

"The less severe cases will be coming to Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey could use an extra set of hands. The more severe cases are already at St. Mungo's."

"St Mungo's? I know I'm not technically a licensed healer, more like a lab rat. Dumbledore is well within his rights to get someone fully qualified for the really terrible injuries. Sending someone to St Mungo's, though, that will tip the Order's hand."

"The Dark Lord has really already tipped it for us." Severus proceeded to describe the events of the evening. "I've heard it second hand from Dumbledore, mind, so there may have been the odd embellishment."

Abby was dumbfounded. This changed everything. The fight would be in the open, now that the Ministry had been forced to admit that Voldemort was back. She followed Severus out the door.

They returned to find Madame Pomfrey deluged. Abby began to see the less serious cases, one by one. She repaired Neville Longbottom's nose, finally enabling him to speak normally. Abby wasn't certain she had done him any favors though, as Snape dragged Neville off to question him about what exactly had happened to Weasley. When she had fixed up Ginny Weasley, she turned to look around. The infirmary was much less crowded. Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey were behind a curtain with Dolores Umbridge. Severus had a large crumbly-looking reference book open in front of him and was mumbling incantations over Ron Weasley, who sat on a bed giggling softly.

A lone figure was seated on a bed on the far side of the room. He leaned against the wall, staring into space. Abby went over to his cautiously. The poor boy had had so much loss. She wished there was something she could do for him, but she didn't really know him well. Her efforts might be an intrusion. She walked over.

"Harry, are you injured in any way." He made no reply. "Harry?" He looked up.

"No." She looked him over. He didn't seem to be hurt. She hesitated, standing next to him awkwardly.

"I-I'm sorry about Sirius. We spent a lot of time together at Grimmauld Place." Harry nodded without looking up at her. "If you need to talk about him…" The boy shook his head.

Severus walked over to her. Abby looked over at Ron Weasley, who was sleeping on the bed.

"Dumbledore will wish to speak to us eventually." Severus didn't look at Potter. Harry rose and rounded on Severus.

"It was you, you told him, and you goaded him. He never would have gone, he never –" Snape didn't wait for Harry to finish, instead turning on his heel and leaving the infirmary, his robes billowing behind him.

Abby hesitated. What was going on between Severus and Harry? At least Severus hadn't allowed the confrontation to escalate, but he didn't even seem to want to acknowledge Harry in any way. She turned to Harry.

"I – I think you have the wrong end of the stick, Harry. Sirius was restless, looking for a reason to leave. And Harry, he loved you. He talked about you all of the time. He spent the last six months giving me a blow by blow of your performance in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He would never have stood by of he thought you were in danger…" Abby stopped herself, realizing that this might sound as if she thought Harry should be blaming himself. His lip was trembling. He burst into tears and collapsed on the bed. So much for my career as a guidance counselor, Abby thought. She sat down next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault either, Harry. You did the best you could with the information you had." She decided to stop babbling, and she just stroked his hair. Poppy came in, looked at Harry, turned and entered the storeroom, and brought back a vial of blue liquid.

"Drink this, Harry," she said, quietly but firmly. Harry drank the potion and was asleep in seconds. Abby rose. She wasn't quite sure where to go, but Severus had made it sound as if Dumbledore's office was the logical place to be for the next few hours. She wandered down the corridors. It was so strange to be back. Everything looked familiar, but in a hazy way. She managed to remember where the Headmaster's office was and she paused outside the door. A disheveled Filius Flitwick walked up behind her.

"Cadbury Flake," he said. The passage opened.

It was all as Abby had remembered - the mysterious instruments, the portraits of the former headmasters. Dumbledore was there with Severus, Remus, and Kinsgley. Abby and Flitwick were followed by Sprout. The instructors were overjoyed to see Dumbledore back in his office.

"Abby, my dear, thank you for joining us. Ah, my Heads of Houses. Well, this has been an evening of change. We have lost a comrade and our headquarters, but now, at least the truth is generally acknowledged, and we shall have more allies from here on in."

"Such as they are," muttered Severus. Albus ignored him.

"We will need to meet here for the time being, until the disposition of 12 Grimmauld Place can be established. The Ministry cannot object at this point. Abby, I will need you to go to St. Mungo's on a regular basis to make sure that Hermione and Tonks are receiving the proper care. After that, I would like you to remain here. Poppy usually visits her daughter in Norway during the summer. " Abby nodded her assent. "Now, I think the Heads of Houses should go to their common rooms and answer any questions people might have. I know it's 2:00 a.m., but I don't think that more than half of the student body is asleep. Remus, could you speak to the Gryffindors? Poor Minerva."

Abby followed Severus out of the door.

"I'll be in the visiting parents' quarters, I think," she said to him casually as they walked down the staircase. He nodded before he swept down the corridor to the dungeons.

An hour later, Abby heard a soft knock at her door. She cast a quick charm to make sure it was Severus before opening the door. He walked in and said nothing. He just sat heavily on the bed and removed his boots and cloak. He looked up at her. She transfigured his clothes into pajamas. They both got into bed.

Abby decided, as she drifted off, that she quite liked the fact that their relationship was such that they didn't always need rip roaring passion, that they could give each other what they needed, whether it was intimacy or just comfort. What she didn't like was the sense that she could never ask him about Harry Potter without provoking a huge row.

Over the next two months, Abby found herself feeling like some kind of black and white movie. She was now at Hogwarts full time. There was a steady stream of wounded, whether from Death Eaters raids or Order offensives. Ironically, Severus was rarely at Hogwarts. Voldemort felt that Severus' time was more available during the summer holidays, and he felt at liberty to use that time. When not out on raids, Severus had to spend time at his childhood home in Spinner's End, as Peter Pettigrew was often his houseguest.

Her parents and grandparents had been full of stories of the Second World War and the days of Grendelwald. They spoke of whirlwind romances between women and servicemen who were about to ship out to the battlefield, rapid courtships conducted during sporadic home leaves, and hastily constructed marriages. Abby found that all very familiar right now. She and Severus had mostly stolen moments. They spent some nights together after raids when Severus brought wounded to the Hogwarts infirmary. During the new moon, Death Eaters usually rested after their full moon excesses. Those nights, he would meet her in Lyme. They would apparate to a small cove inaccessible to foot traffic and, while wrapped in Severus' cloak, watch the sea in the dim light. Their desperation, their fear that they had no real future drove them together, Abby knew. She was happy when she was with him. At the same time, she could sometimes tell he was still distant, his mind elsewhere, and on her part, she wondered, like many of those wartime wives, whether this ill-tempered man was really the sort of person she would have chose in a time of peace.


	6. Chapter 6

In August, Severus Snape began to think he had hit a new low. He would have to kill Dumbledore or die, kill Dumbledore, or let one of Voldemort's more bloodthirsty followers do it, kill Dumbledore or let Draco piss his life away. And Dumbledore would die anyway. No matter what he did.

He should let her go, he should. Sometime in the next year, he would become the most reviled person in the wizarding world of Britain. He couldn't tie her to him in any way without compromising her. It was bad enough that he was seeing her at all. If Voldemort knew…well, it didn't bear thinking about. Now he was risking her standing with the other members of the Order as well. He would just have to see to it that she reviled him as much as the rest. He didn't think that would be much work, if any, once the deed was done.

Yet, he didn't have the strength to give her up just now. While they had this time, he would take it. The hope of seeing her one more time and one more time again was the only thing holding him together. That and the knowledge that when all of this was over, if there was indeed an afterlife, he would see Lily again. He didn't have any illusions that his life would be worth much or last long after the old man was gone. He felt a horrible retching sensation in his stomach at the thought of what he had to do. Death would be a welcome relief.

On the night of the new moon in August, he apparated to Lyme. She was waiting for him. It was 9:30 p.m., and dusk was just fading into night. Abby said nothing, but held out a glass of lemonade to him, from her seat at the small table just outside her back door. He took it equally wordlessly. As he drank it, he noted a hint of ginger. He had always liked that about her, her ability to surprise him with her competence. He had been so used to thinking of everyone besides himself as completely incompetent.

He sat beside her, staring into darkening night. In another time, they might have been a normal married couple, enjoying a summer evening. A normal married couple. Severus decided to ignore the preposterousness of the suggestion that he would ever have been a normal anything. What would he have been? Still a potions master? Would they have given him the DADA position if he'd had a different sort of past? Where would they have met? A conference, perhaps. He liked the sound of that. It reinforced his opinion of himself as the sort of fellow who had the confidence to date an equal, unlike the Sirius Blacks of the world. He felt a slight twinge of a reminder not to speak ill of the dead. Would they have married, or would they just have lived together? He would pass on that. Perhaps, if things had been different, she might have consented to a permanent commitment, if only out of curiosity. They would, of course, have lived here, in this pleasant home by the seaside, rather than in his own ancestral hovel. Would there have been children? He thought not. Abby handled children with great kindness, providing all the more reason why she might have been reluctant to subject any offspring to him. So, a normal married couple, quietly approaching middle age, their careers flourishing in a modest way. They would have traveled, he was sure.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing, really. Just…the way things might have been. Had the Dark Lord never arrived."

Abby had suspected that Severus was capable of such sentiment, but she was surprised that he was discussing it with her so openly. When she reflected on this moment later, she realized that it was her first inkling that something was very wrong.

"And what would things have been like? Would you have a nice steady job with the Ministry, perhaps in the Accounting Department?" she asked, smiling.

"Some days, that seems divine."

"Come on, Severus, you'd last about ten minutes before you bit your supervisor's head off."

He started, and then smiled broadly at her.

"I never thought to meet someone else who knew me so well."

Abby wondered who he meant by someone else, but just then, he was kissing her, and she stopped wondering.

That night, as they lay in bed, he said

"I will have a great deal to do this year…"

Here comes the brushoff, she thought. Really, it had been inevitable that it would end sooner or later.

"I will have to shadow Draco Malfoy rather intensely." She had not expected this. "I shouldn't say more – "

"I understand."

"No, I'm just telling you because – because I want you to know that my inclination would be to be here, with you, always." He couldn't look at her.

She hugged him tightly.

"I feel the same," she said, simply.

She meant it, but "always" was such an abstract concept these days. It was almost enough, though, to think that he felt the same way, to know that if the world were different, his feelings wouldn't be, but their future could be. Neither of them slept much that night. They held each other in the darkness. When they parted the next morning, Abby felt as though things were changing, and not for the better.

Abby moved back to Grimmauld Place, and their siege mentality returned. Dumbledore was rarely seen, but sent orders through second and third parties. Abby saw little of Severus. In late November, her charmed parchment revealed a short note in his writing – "Katie Bell – St. Mungo's". She went there at once. "Her aunt, you know, a friend of a friend, asked me to consult" etc., etc. It helped that one of her former mentors was also consulting. She found she really couldn't do much for the girl. The curse was too powerful. She and the other specialists formulated some paths of research and divided them amongst themselves. This would have to be regarded as a long term effort.

She saw Severus briefly when he personally brought the necklace that had cursed Katie to the Head Curse Specialist. When he stiffly addressed her as "Miss Wilson", she followed his lead and was strictly professional. He must have his reasons.

Her work for the Order was rather grim. The number of werewolf attacks had been quite disturbing, and she didn't think she could face another set of devastated parents. Otherwise, she was treating a lot of Muggles. In general, when word came in of a Death Eater raid, they would find a lot of collateral damage to surrounding Muggle dwellings, but the witches and wizards would simply be gone, whether into hiding or captured by Voldemort, no one could say.

Abby had begun to despair of seeing Severus at all during Christmas. He had an invitation to Malfoy Manor, which he had accepted in order to keep an eye on Draco, and he had to spend some of his time at Spinner's End to avoid suspicion from Pettigrew. At last on Boxing Day, Abby was making some hot cider as the sun set in the late afternoon, when she saw a flash of black in the barren yard. She hadn't been quite prepared to be embraced quite so quickly and tightly.

"Severus, mind you don't set your robes on fire," she said, smiling.

"Merlin, I have missed you," he said, with more enthusiasm than she had ever heard him express. That night, the lovemaking was frenetic. Abby didn't know what had hit her, as Severus whispered endearments to her, with increasing hints of desperation in his voice. While he slept, she looked at him. He had lost more weight, aged years since she had last seen him a month ago, and even in his sleep, couldn't seem to be entirely still. She was filled with dread, but at the same time, she was oddly buoyed by the fact that whatever it was that was bothering him, she was his refuge. She hadn't thought he would ever rely on someone else so completely. He was so guarded and prickly, although not with her. In the morning, he was gone.

Abby had taken to working more in the field. As the Death Eater raids continued, the destruction was more widespread, and she hadn't wanted to wait for the Order members to transport the patients, which in itself was risky for both parties. The other Order members guarded her and one or two other medics as they worked, usually behind Shield or Disillusionment Charms.

In mid-January, Abby and several Order members found themselves just outside of Newcastle. The winds were biting, and Shield Charms weren't holding, as the members who were maintaining them struggled to keep their wand arms straight and the wands from icing over in the damp and cold. The group of Death Eaters who returned to finish what they had started seemed just as startled to see them, and the cold slowed them considerably, but the Death Eater group was larger. Abby heard a cry of "Nab the medics," before something struck her in the head, and everything went black.

Abby awoke to find herself immobilized and attached to the underside of someone's broom. She struggled in vain, unable to utter a spell, wondering where her wand was. Tears of frustration froze to her cheeks. Damn! Was he taking her to Iceland?

They alit finally, and Abby's head hit the ground with an unceremonious thud. She could see a manor house in the distance, with lights burning on the first floor only. She heard voices. A hand roughly dragged her to her feet. She was having double vision, and the cold had rendered her barely conscious, but she could see that she had two captors. The one who had been transporting her had a large scar, and oddly unfocused eyes. His smaller companion, still stride his broom, looked at her and licked his lips.

"The Dark Lord wants medics to be sure, so that's why you couldn't harm her, Grouse." The large man nodded unsteadily. "But he didn't say we couldn't have some fun first. She's quite pretty. I wonder what's under those robes." Abby still couldn't run, and she was having trouble even standing. She felt the nausea rising, and she braced herself for unpleasantness. At least they would probably not want to disrobe in the biting cold.

A blur passed the corner of her eye, and another Death Eater, broomless, she noted with surprise, landed in front of her two captors. The smaller one gave a frozen smile, obviously annoyed that the prize would have to be shared. Before her captor could speak, Abby heard a familiar voice say, "Immobilius!" A huge arc of red sparks flew as this new, obviously very powerful, wizard immobilized both men at once. He hovered over the downed men, breathing heavily. She could tell his adrenalin was rising, and green sparks began to leak from his wand.

"Severus, no, please," she thought, still unable to speak. As if he could hear her, and perhaps he had, he stopped himself, obliviating the two men and leaving them unconscious on the ground.

He grabbed her and breathlessly removed the Immobilius Charm. She began to collapse, and he caught her.

"Are you alright? No, a stupid question."

"It's not so bad, but I think I have hypothermia, and I hit my head pretty hard when we landed." He wrapped his cloak around her. Abby finally felt safe again. She leaned against his chest. His heart was beating very rapidly. She held on for dear life as he took her back to London by Sidealong Apparition. Her nausea was temporarily worse, as they took several jumps, but at least she was inside her own room within 10 minutes. Severus lit a fire with a wandstroke, and transfigured her clothes into a dry flannel nightgown. She turned to him,

"Severus, how did you know.."

"Shut-up, and get into bed," he said, peremptorily. She climbed in.

"Your bedside manner would be quite excellent for a Russian prison doctor, " she mumbled. He changed and climbed in with her, wrapping his arms around her to give her the benefit of his body heat.

"How did you know?" she insisted.

"It's a rather poor spy who doesn't have spies of his own."

"Remus?"

"Lupin has a sense that something is due the man who makes his Wolfsbane Potion. A little information on your activities for the last year or so was seen as a fair exchange." He turned to look at her with something of a smile. "The fact that he's annoyingly sentimental also works to my advantage." He kissed her forehead. "Try to sleep."

It was precisely at that moment that she decided. Her feeling that she was living in a black and white movie faded into oblivion. Severus was there when she needed him, whatever the cost to himself, and even when she was out of his sight, she was obviously not out of him mind. If he was in it for the long, haul, then so was she, even though, she thought ruefully, their haul might not be very long at all.

In the morning, he kissed her, and left before the other Order members, who tended to collapse in the various rooms of an evening, were up.

Abby went about her work with a renewed sense of purpose. She now felt that she too had some kind of stake in all of this, a Voldemort-free future to which she could look forward.

Her resolve faced its first test in March, when there was a knock at the door of her room. It was Dumbledore. His hand was withered, and he looked pale and wan, but he wore his usual smile, as he entered her room. His face then turned somewhat graver.

"My dear, I am going to have to ask you to both trust me, and to hear some very hard news, none of which you may repeat to anyone. Everything depends on it."

Abby swallowed. Dumbledore continued.

"Sometime within the next few months, you will receive some bad news about Severus." Abby's throat tightened. "He will be accused of terrible things, and possibly be reviled by all of our fellows on the side of right. I want you to know that whatever you hear, he was acting on my orders. He was asked to do it, and that he had to do it." Dumbledore turned to her, smiling sadly. "I am asking him to lose everything, but in the end, I couldn't ask him to lose you too, my dear." Tears formed in Abby's eyes. "I will also tell you, my dear, that you must not breathe a word of what I have said to anyone. You must not try to excuse him or clear his name."

"But won't you be able to – OH!" It began to come together for Abby - the withered hand, the pale appearance. "You – you won't be here to clear him will you?" She couldn't stop the tears now.

"I will not try to fool a professional such as yourself, my dear." Abby flung her arms about his neck. "It has been a delightful time. One hundred and fifty years – any man should be grateful for half as much." He kissed her cheek, turned and glided downstairs and into the night.


End file.
